31 Days of Winter
by gr8rockstarrox
Summary: Draco loves the month of December. Harriet loves to watch the snow fall. They're perfect for each other, really. '31 Days of Winter' is a collection of drabbles about what happens in the month of December, over the years. Narrated from our favourite Malfoy's point of view. [fem!Harry/Draco] Fem!Harry - You've been warned. *18th to 20th December now uploaded*
1. December 1st, 1989

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #15 (colour) Maroon

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 1st, 1989_

 _Friday_

* * *

Draco doesn't like the fact that he is being made to visit Diagon Alley for Yule shopping. And what's worse is that he and his mother are visiting it like _commoners_ , through some local pub called The Leaky Cauldron.

At least, it isn't a _Muggle_ one.

Merlin, that would be so dreadful.

They're standing on Charing Cross Road right outside the entrance of the dingy looking pub. The entrance looks awful and dirty. His mother goes in, but Draco doesn't follow.

He's wearing new robes; he doesn't want to get them dirty. It's in his favourite colour, green. No, he won't go inside.

He stands outside and surveys the Muggle road. Those creatures are so savage and barbaric. They walk in a rush, without any dignity or style.

On the other side of the road, he sees a horsey looking woman dressed in Muggle clothes walking in front of a skinny little black-haired girl, who's carrying a lot of parcels. The girl looks his age.

But Merlin, she's wearing such horrid clothes! So ill-fitting and ugly! How can anyone show their face in public looking like that? Such a shade of maroon should be made illegal.

Has she even combed her hair? It's such an unruly mess.

It's almost like the girl feels him staring at her, because she turns and stares right back at him.

When Draco narrows his eyes and gives her an aristocratic look, one that tells her her place in the world, she sticks her tongue out at him.

How childish!

But that doesn't stop him from sticking his tongue out right back at her.

"Girl, why have you stopped?" yells the horsey woman, without any class. The girl hurries after her, but not before throwing a bright grin at him.

Muggles are stupid. Muggles are classless. Muggles are animalistic.

And yet, he smirks back at her.

What would Father say?

A hand grabs him by the shoulder, and he's spun around so that he's face to face with Mother.

"Draco!" she admonishes in a soft, cultured voice. "Don't ever do that again! I was so worried!"

"Sorry, Mother," he says, before allowing her to drag him inside.

~o~

Later that night, when he's lying on his bed, he thinks of the Muggle girl in the maroon sweater.

Her dressing sense was awful, and she looked wild and unrefined.

He doesn't know why, but the thought of her makes him smile.

Maybe maroon isn't that bad a colour, after all.

* * *

 **Word count** : 418

 **AN:** Reviews are love. I need motivation to write the other 30 days. :)


	2. December 2nd, 1991

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #3 (word) Family

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 2nd, 1991_

 _Monday_

* * *

Draco _hates_ her.

She's so annoying, always acting like a hero. So what if she's the Girl Who Lived? She has no right to walk around the way she does, with all the simpering Gryffindor idiots falling at her feet.

He has no idea why she is friendly towards that redheaded pauper and that bucktoothed Mudblood. She's supposed to have been _his_ friend.

 _How dare she choose them over him?_

The owls swoop in, to deliver parcels, and he notices how once again, she seems to have no boxes or letters from home. Was she trying to play up her 'orphan' image?

He watches, as she makes her way out of the Great Hall, without her Gryffindork entourage. It's the perfect opportunity, to tell her how much she must be hated by her family, if they don't send her anything.

He hurries out, after her.

"Potter! What's the hurry?"

"Malfoy," she says coolly, before walking down the corridor, without waiting for him.

He walks faster to catch up with her, when she speaks, her voice unusually frosty.

"To what do I owe this _pleasure_?" she asks, stressing on the last word.

"Just wanted to offer my condolences."

She doesn't stop walking, but she narrows her eyes.

Draco feels victorious. He isn't going to stop now. So he continues. "It seems like once again you haven't received any packages or letters from home. Your family must _really_ hate you."

He doesn't know why all his elation bursts like a balloon when she looks at him woundedly, her green eyes bright with some unnamed emotion.

Holy Morgana! Is she going to _cry_?

"You had to come all the way to tell me that?" she asks, her voice slightly breaking at the end. It's an impressive display of her acting skills, though it's obvious she's trying to stop her voice from shaking.

Without thinking, Draco asks her, "Your family hates you?"

Now that he's asked her that, he feels foolish. He doesn't deserve to be in Slytherin. He has just acted like a stupid Gryffindor, asking a question impulsively.

"Family is something that is made of people who love you. Just because someone's related to you, it doesn't make them family."

Draco stops walking. He never expected such a deep answer from Pottyhead.

She continues walking, but pauses to throw him a glance over her shoulder.

"To answer your question, my family _loves_ me. I need no letters from them, because I see them every day."

She walks away, but Draco makes no attempt to follow her.

He stares at her retreating figure, still marvelling over the wisdom of her words.

 _Family._

What she has said has put things in a totally new perspective.

He decides to head back to the Slytherin Common Room and write that long overdue letter to his mother.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 474

 **AN:**

2 down, 29 to go!

Reviews are love.


	3. December 3rd, 1995

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #45 (feeling) Hungover

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 3rd, 1995_

 _Sunday_

* * *

The light shines brightly, and Draco opens his eyes wearily. There's a pounding in his head, and all he wants to do is sleep.

As the fogginess leaves his brain, he realises many things at once.

He's not in his private room in the Slytherin dungeons. He's on a four-poster bed in some large, airy, bright place.

And more importantly, there's someone who has an arm around his waist. And it seems like he has an arm thrown around the person as well.

Trying not to wake the other person up, he moves away slightly, cringing as his head hurts. The events of the previous night slowly start filtering into his hungover brain.

The Ravenclaw Winter Party!

He must be in the Ravenclaw Tower.

He looks around as he sits up slowly, trying not to jostle the other person too much. Even then, he manages to disturb the sleeping figure next to him, though the arm remains wrapped around his waist. He takes a moment to study the person.

It's obviously a girl, going by the waist-length black hair. Her face is on the pillow, turned away from him.

Thank Merlin they're both wearing their clothes. That means he hasn't _slept_ with this unknown girl. As in _slept slept._ Father would disown him if he ever knocked up some useless girl at an Inter-house party.

As his eyes get used to the brightness in the room, he realises that it isn't all that bright. After all, it's bleak December sunshine - it's just brighter than the light in the dungeons.

There are three other beds in the room. The one in the far corner has its hangings closed. The one to his immediate left has what seems to be two naked boys, spooning. The one on his right has a sleeping person, who is wrapped up in a blanket. Draco can only see a shock of blond hair.

Draco turns back to the sleeping girl next to him. How can he get away without drawing any attention?

He inspects the arm around his waist. He knows he's seen it somewhere before. How can an arm look so damn familiar? He moves a little further away, as much as he can without falling off the bed.

The girl moves her arm across his waist towards herself, and clutches his robes. Now that he can see her fingers, he _knows_ that he has seen this hand before. Those long fingers with short shaped nails, clutched around something.

A Snitch!

He's in bed with _Harriet_ bloody _Potter_.

Draco scrambles off the bed, and falls onto the floor in a heap. His head hurts, and to make it worse, he seems to have woken up the girl.

She sits up on the bed, and turns to face him. Her green green eyes look at him, and there's an almost comical look of horror on her face.

The thing is, Draco's pretty sure the look is mirrored on his face.

"Fuck, Malfoy?" she asks, almost as if it's the worst thing on earth to sort of wake up next to him.

For her, it probably is.

Draco belatedly realises that he's missing a shoe on his right foot. What the hell happened last night?

"We didn't - we didn't do anything, did we?" she asks, her voice trembling.

"We both have our clothes on. So I'm guessing no."

She lets out a sigh of relief.

"Does it always hurt this much?" she asks, rubbing her temples.

"Your first time getting drunk, Potter?" he asks, feeling amused. He tries to smirk, but it only makes his head hurt. He cringes instead.

These _smarty smart_ Ravenclaws are the type to have hangover and sobriety potions in their bathroom cupboards, aren't they?

"So what if it is?" asks Potter, a defiant touch to her voice.

He can't deal with her now, even if she looks slightly cute, with her hair mussed up beyond usual.

 _Did he just think of Scarface as cute?_

Holy Morgana.

He ignores her and steps into the bathroom. It seems to be a common bathroom. How tacky. Each Slytherin has his or her own bathroom.

Draco finds the required potions and comes back to see that Potter has closed the window curtains. She's standing in front of a mirror, trying to fix her hair. Draco notices that she's missing both shoes.

He drinks one vial, before handing the other to her.

"What is it?" she asks suspiciously.

"Hangover cure."

"Why should I trust you?" she asks, her eyes narrowed.

"You don't have to. I don't care."

That answer satisfies her, oddly, and she gulps down the potion.

"I feel better! Thanks!" she exclaims, smiling.

Draco tries not to smile at her childish delight.

"Hangover cures are known to do that," he says, dryly.

Her expression falls, and she asks worriedly, "What if someone sees the two of us going out?"

Feeling oddly brash, Draco says, "Only one way to find out."

He opens the dorm-room door, and goes out to the landing, to see that the Ravenclaw Common Room is full of passed out people. Is that the Weasel he sees, wrapped around the Mudblood, on the sofa?

"I don't think anyone will notice," she says, and he notices that she's standing right next to him. She smells nice.

They go down the staircase together with him in front, but before they reach the bottom, Potter taps his shoulder.

"Umm, Malfoy? Could we not tell anyone that we literally, umm, slept together?"

As much as Draco knows that he'd love to tease her about this, he knows that he too has an image to maintain.

"As long as you don't tell anyone, Pothead."

"Fine, Ferret."

Draco turns his head to throw her a smirk. He's thrown when he sees her grinning at him.

He doesn't know why, but he grins back at her.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 978

 **AN:**

That was more my style. :)

3 down, 28 to go!

Reviews are love.


	4. December 4th, 1999

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #39 (food) Turkey

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 4th, 1999_

 _Saturday_

* * *

"Harry, love? What are you doing?"

Draco stares at his girlfriend from the entranceway of the kitchen, as she bustles about in the kitchen, a recipe book in her hand. It's only seven am, and Draco had kind of been hoping to have some morning sex with his unbelievably hot girlfriend.

Of course, if he voices this out, she'd make him wash vessels or do the laundry, or give him some extra _chores_. He still can't believe the fact that they're living together in this tiny Muggle apartment of hers.

And she refuses to hire a house-elf, even though they both work full-time.

"I'm practising making turkey."

He almost doesn't hear what she says, because he's too busy appreciating how cute her derriere looks in an apron.

"Turkey? Why?" he asks, puzzled. Where did that come from? What happened to the normal Saturday pizza brunch?

She stops mixing whatever it is that she's mixing, and looks at him with her green eyes wide open. It's not really a glare, but it's a look of suspicion. Like she's trying to figure out something.

But he's more interested in what she's wearing. A full sleeved shirt of his, with the sleeves pulled up to her elbows and the first few buttons open. She's wearing a baby pink apron that he never knew she owned. And even though the apron falls to her knees, blocking her bare upper legs, he knows that his shirt falls only to the middle of her thighs. He can picture it so well.

"Draco? Why do you sound surprised? I mean, you were the one who did the grocery this week," she asks as her right eye twitches in an attempt to not narrow her eyes.

It doesn't help that all his blood has rushed elsewhere, _somewhere south_.

"Draco?" she asks, and he notices that her eyes have narrowed, just a bit. He can't just _tell_ her that he makes the Manor's house-elf do the grocery, can he? She'd have an apoplectic fit, and he'd have to sleep on the couch tonight.

Really, he uses Twinky only for their own good. If he were to do the grocery shopping, they'd both probably end up being poisoned.

"Of course I did. I just thought it was for Yule."

"Oh, it _is_!"she cries out, waving her hands. Her hands are covered with white flour, and she looks adorable. She rubs her nose and now, there's a smudge of flour on the tip of her nose. She looks doubly adorable.

And this adorable creature is all _his._

"Yule is more than twenty days away, Harry," he says slowly. Does she plan to preserve the turkey for the family Yule dinner by putting a stasis charm on it?

"I know! I'm practising!"

Draco stares at her, even more confused than before. Why would she want to practise making turkey?

"Why?"

"Well, this is the first time we're hosting Yule dinner, and I don't want anything to go wrong. I don't want your mother to hate me."

Draco smiles at what she says, because really, how can he not?

 _She's practising because she's worried Mother would hate her?_

He feels like he's falling in love with her once again.

Because this beautiful creature, beautiful not just on the outside, but also on the inside, is all _his._

He walks up to her and takes her face in his hands gently. He blows the hair that falls on her forehead away, before kissing her on her scar.

She doesn't know that Mother loves her.

She doesn't know that Mother in fact gave him the Malfoy engagement ring just last night, telling him to marry his wonderful girlfriend as soon as possible, before others steal her away from him.

She doesn't know that Mother would still love her even if she were the worst cook on the planet, which she is not.

"You know that I love you, right?" he asks, as she wraps her arms around his neck. She's probably getting flour all over his bare back, but it doesn't matter. He can possibly talk her into having a shower with him later.

"Yeah, but-"

He interrupts her saying, "You know my mother loves me, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

He interrupts once again, "You know that my mother loves you, right?"

"What? Really? She does?" she asks, her eyes full of emotions he can't entirely decipher. He knows she's insecure about accepting love. He knows she's scared he'll walk away or leave her behind. He knows that she can't believe that anyone can like her for who she is.

She'll probably believe him only if she sees the ring that's currently hidden in his sock drawer. Which reminds him- he should probably do the laundry till he finds the perfect moment to ask her, or he should change the hiding place.

"Yeah, she does. She's scared I'll do something to hurt you, because of which you'll leave me."

"I'll never leave you, Draco. I might get mad at you, I might yell at you, hell, I might even fight with you just for the sake of fighting, but I'll never leave you. I'll do it only if you ever ask me to," she says fiercely, her eyes shining.

"I'll never want you to leave. And I'll never leave either. I love you too much," he says, before crashing his lips onto hers. She responds just as passionately and he's hopeful that he'll get his much wanted (and needed) round of morning sex, when she pulls away, cussing.

"Holy fuck."

That's when he notices that something's burning on the stove. She jumps away from him and rushes to the stove.

"Merlin, no! I've burnt the pork. My stuffing's ruined."

He tries to hold back a sigh. It looks like he won't get his morning sex, today.

May be if he helps her out, he'll get some afternoon sex?

He summons a t-shirt from their room, before going over to help, smirking.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 996 (I'm cutting it close, haha.)

 **AN:**

As far as I know, flour isn't used while making turkey for Christmas. But I just couldn't picture Harriet without flour on her nose.

4 down, 27 to go. Please review!


	5. December 5th, 1993

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #37 (food) Eggnog

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 5th, 1993_

 _Sunday_

* * *

Draco walks down the corridor, looking for a first year Hufflepuff whom he can bully for fun. He's bored, and he needs some entertainment.

Crabbe and Goyle are in the hospital wing, having eaten one too many Chocolate Frogs, once again.

He knows that the Hufflepuff Common Room is approximately around four corridors away. This is the perfect place to catch those snot faced 'Puff firsties. While it's close enough to definitely find a suitable victim, it is also far away enough to ensure that they can't scream for help.

It's perfect, really.

The only unfortunate thing is that there's no Hufflepuff in sight.

He hears pattering footsteps coming from the turn ahead, and he almost rubs his hands in glee. The footsteps are light - _it's definitely a first year._ And there's only one set of footsteps - _a lone Hufflepuff firstie._

Life can't get any better!

He waits bang in the middle of the corridor, in anticipation.

And then Harriet Potter turns into the corridor.

He almost hisses in annoyance. How dare she fool him into thinking that she were a first year badger?

She stops abruptly upon seeing him, annoyance flashing in her eyes. Her eyes are _so_ green. There's something frothy sticking to the skin above her lips, which makes her look like a child. Stupid Gryffindor.

She clutches a silver goblet tightly to herself, almost as if he might snatch it away, and eyes him warily.

That gives him an idea.

He walks closer to her. She stands her ground, being a Gryffindor. He hadn't really expected her to back away, though that would have been amusing.

"What's that on your face, Pottyhead? Trying to grow a moustache?"

"What!" she exclaims, very eloquently, raising her right hand to rub the froth away.

Draco uses her momentary distraction to snatch the goblet away.

"Hey!" she protests, but Draco quickly gulps down what is there.

"Gah," he splutters, as her look of indignation turns into a momentary smirk before going back to a scowl.

"What the hell was that, Potter?"

"I'm not telling you," she says haughtily, crossing her arms.

"What if I'm allergic to something in it? I could _die_ ," he exaggerates, hoping she'll fall for it.

She lets out a huff, and her nostrils flare. It's always amusing to rile her up and watch her reactions.

"You should have thought of that before gulping it down like a moron."

"I tasted some alcohol in that. Rum, I think? Imagine how _everyone_ would react if I told them I found you drinking?"

"There's hardly an ounce of rum in it... And how would _you_ know it's rum if you haven't had rum before?" she asks, her eyes flashing once again.

"Don't try to act smart, Potter. Everyone's had rum based chocolates."

He doesn't tell her that most Pureblood children are introduced to the different types of alcohols and spirits at the age of nine. It seems like she doesn't know that, and he sees no necessity to educate her.

"It's eggnog. With a touch of nutmeg."

She grabs the goblet back, and then stares at it in dismay.

"You finished it?" she asks, her voice steely.

Before Draco can open his mouth, she slaps him.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW BLOODY HARD IT WAS TO FIND AN AUTHENTIC MUGGLE RECIPE? AND THEN I HAD TO COERCE THE HOUSE-ELVES INTO MAKING IT FOR ME. WHY ARE YOU SO HELL BENT ON RUINING MY LIFE?"

"It was a Muggle drink?" he asks faintly, completely shocked by the Potter standing in front of him. She's gripping the goblet so tightly that her knuckles are turning white.

The only other time he has ever seen her this aggressive is on the Quidditch pitch.

But that doesn't matter, because he's just had a Muggle drink! (And liked it as well.)

"I wish Buckbeak had really injured you, you horrible, selfish, mean bully. _I HATE YOU_ ," she says, yelling the last part, before pushing past him.

Draco raises his hand to touch his cheek, which is still smarting. He's pretty sure that if he looks into a mirror right now, he'll find an imprint of her hand.

He, Draco Lucius Malfoy, the one and only heir to the Malfoy wealth, who has never even spanked by his parents, had been slapped by a puny little girl who fainted in front of Dementors.

 _How shameful._

This is one thing that his father will never hear about.

* * *

 **Word count:** 745

 **AN:**

If the spellings are different, it's because I use British English.

Who likes eggnog with rum? I hate rum, except when mixed with coke. Eggnog with bourbon tastes much better, doesn't it?

(Tell me in a review.)

5 down, 26 to go!


	6. December 6th, 1996

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #36 (food) Candy Cane

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

 **WARNING:** Slightly mature theme. You've been warned.

* * *

 _December 6th, 1996_

 _Friday_

* * *

Draco hates his life. He has never hated himself before, so it's an alien concept to get used to.

The skin on his left arm itches, and he regrets the circumstances that he has been forced into. But he knows that he couldn't have refused the Dark Mark, not when his mother's life was at stake.

He no longer has the heart to tease, torment or bother Potter, because he knows it's all futile. He knows that he has always been fascinated by her. And he probably always will be.

It was last December that he had finally admitted to himself that he liked her. But he hadn't acted on it, thinking he had lots of time. He had even been hoping that his 'crush' would die over time.

But now, it's too late because he's a Death Eater, and she's the bloody Girl-Who-Lived.

So he continues staring at the Gryffindor girl, as she tosses her hair back, laughing at something the Weasel said. Draco feels a pang of what he now knows is jealousy. But then all his petty thoughts about the Weasel disappear when she catches his gaze and holds it.

She doesn't turn away. Neither does she glare at him the way she used to, last year. She watches him as he watches her. There's something so intimate about the whole thing, though there's so much distance between them.

He doesn't know if he likes how she's taken to tying a red and gold ribbon around her head to keep her fringe from falling into her eyes. Personally, he thinks a green tie would look much better. It would match the colour of her eyes.

But even through his musings of her, he can't take his eyes off her.

She takes out some wrapped thing out of her bag, never once looking down. She unwraps it slowly, sensually, all while looking at him intensely.

Draco feels a familiar stirring at the base of his abdomen.

It's a candy-cane, and she puts it in her mouth. Her luscious lips swallow the head of the cane completely, making a gentle 'O' around the stem. Her eyelids flutter shut.

Draco can't breathe. He can't eat his lunch anymore, either.

She starts sucking on the sweet, and her cheeks hollow out. Her eyes open once again, and those green _green_ eyes watch him lazily as he gulps.

He's thankful to whoever designed the Hogwarts uniform, because if not for the loose robes, the tent-pole in his pants would be seen by everyone.

She pushes the red and white striped stick up and down, up and down, in a rhythmic motion, and he nearly comes undone. He can feel something sticky in his boxers, and he knows that he'll have a very public 'accident' if he doesn't do something soon.

His hand itches to stroke himself, but he can't do it here, not in front of all these people. Because all said and done, he's not an exhibitionist.

He wonders if anyone else is seeing her delightful teasing, and he hopes that he's the only one. Merlin, he wishes she could be only _his_.

Macmillan, that Hufflepuff idiot hurries out of the Great Hall, and he can't quite ignore it. Was he too turned on by Harriet sucking a candy cane?

She draws the candy cane out, with what he imagines would be a resounding pop. Her saliva is sticky on the cane, and her lips are a pretty red, probably from the colouring on the cane.

She closes her eyes and throws her head back slightly, exposing her neck, and Draco knows he can't do this anymore. He needs to be in his bedroom. _Now_.

As he turns out of the Great Hall, he catches her grinning at him. She throws him a wink, and it doesn't help matters at hand.

He hurries to the Slytherin Dungeons, scaring a couple of firsties in the process. But he has no time to relish that.

He manages to make it just in time. He throws himself onto his bed, pushing off some brown-paper wrapped parcel and some parchment, before seeking his much needed bliss.

~o~

Twenty minutes later, feeling sated, he bends down to pick up the light parcel and the note.

.

' _Malfoy._

 _I saw how stressed you've been, and thought you might want some form of_ _ **release**_ _. I hope you like candy canes._

 _Cheers.'_

.

Malfoy opens the string of the package, to see two candy-canes inside. He sets it down on his bed gently, as he feels his blood rush south once again.

Stupid fucking beautiful Potter. She had to do this, didn't she? Give him new wanking material, as though images of her flying her Firebolt with her robes flying behind her weren't enough.

He gives in to his urges, knowing he's only human. The fact that Potter seems to be so sneakily Slytherin only makes her sexier in Draco's eyes.

As he comes, crying out her name, he knows, just knows, that he'll never view candy-canes innocently, ever again.

 _Stupid sexy Potter._

* * *

 **Word count:** 846

 **AN:**

This drabble was GREAT fun to write. I giggled while writing. I hope no one felt offended.

I hope I haven't ruined candy-canes for you, the way my friend ruined lollipops and bananas for me. *cringes*

Yup, that's what gave me this idea.

I have the drabbles till December 15th written, but I'm stuck on December 7th's. I can't post the rest without that one. So, I'm sorry?

Reviews would be much appreciated. Show me some Christmas love?

6 down, 25 to go.

Merry Christmas!

P.S. Since you asked me to type this: PinkLady is the best. ;) Happy holidays, homo sapiens. :)


	7. December 7th, 1994

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #44 (feeling) Charitable

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 7th, 1994_

 _Wednesday_

* * *

Vapid bint.

The girl's a vapid bint.

In fact, they're all vapid bints.

Draco sits in the alcove overlooking the courtyard, and glares at the ground, which is barely covered with snow. Every now and then, people walk by, covered in scarves and woollen wear.

For some stupid reason, Pansy thinks that they'll be going to the Yule Ball together. As if he'll ever go with her. Draco has a set of personal standards that needs to be met, and Pansy doesn't meet them.

The only good thing she has going for her is that she's Slytherin.

Hell, even Potter would make a better date than Pansy.

And speaking of the devil...

Potter walks by in a green jumper, taking slow steps across the icy courtyard. She's carefully balancing four apples in her hands, as she takes faltering steps.

Merlin, does she _know_ where the kitchens are?

He needs to get this piece of information from her, somehow.

She freezes in the middle of the courtyard, as she spies him sitting there alone. She changes directions, and approaches him. For a moment, Draco wants to groan, but then when he realises how he's desperate for a sane conversation with someone who is _not_ Pansy, he tries to hold back his trademark sneer.

Potter invites herself to sit in the alcove next to him, and swings her legs up and down as she turns and looks at him.

Oh no! _What if she wants to ask him to the Yule Ball?_

"What do you want, Potter?"

 _Should he have called her Scarface? Will that discourage her?_

"What's up, Malfoy?"

"Huh?" he asks, eloquently. Why is Potter chatting with him like they are bloody friends?

"Are you alright? You haven't been bothering me much these days. Did Moody put you off?"

Draco scowls at her, and she chuckles.

"For what it was worth, you made a cute ferret," she says, smirking, and Draco feels his cheeks become warm.

"Aww, are you blushing, Malfoy?" she coos, before beginning to giggle.

 _Potter! Giggling!_

She laughs so much that her cheeks turn red, to match the tip of her nose which had already turned pink from the cold.

"Are you sure you're not high on anything, Potter?"

"Nah... I think it's the snow. It makes me happy."

Draco stares at her for a minute, as she smiles at the icy courtyard. Who would have thought that Pottyhead, of all people, would like winter, just like him?

"What are you doing with four apples?"

"Oh," she says, looking down at the apples on her lap. "Hagrid got them for me. Want one?"

"I don't eat red apples," Draco says, trying to sneer at her. He feels like he's living in some parallel universe right now; he's never had a conversation this civil with Potter before.

"Green apples are your thing, aren't they? How Slytherin of you."

Draco sits up a little straighter at that. He'd never thought of it that way! House pride for the win, of course!

"You do know that there's a rumour that you'd rather date an apple than take Pansy to the Yule Ball, right?"

Draco splutters.

"Wh-who's saying that?" he asks, mentally berating himself for stuttering.

"Oh, everyone I know. Quite a few Hufflepuffs, by the way," she says casually, flicking some non-existent lint from her jumper.

"Well, I don't care about what those commoners think. In fact, I think I'll have my apple now," he says, sniffing a little, as he holds out his hand.

"Look, I'm giving you an apple only because I'm feeling charitable. And I'm feeling charitable because of the snow. This doesn't mean we're friends," she says, narrowing her eyes, before giving him one.

Twenty minutes later, they're both still sitting in the alcove that Draco had earlier placed a warming charm on. Potter vanishes their leftover apple cores.

"I'm surprised the courtyard is this empty. And it's a weekday."

"Do you have to keep commenting on everything, Potter?"

"I'm making conversation, you grumpy git."

There. That sounds more like the Potter he knows.

The skies grow darker, though it's only five in the evening.

Potters jumps off the parapet of the alcove, skidding a little on the ice, managing to hold on to the two remaining apples.

Morgana, she's such a klutz.

She gives him a sheepish grin.

Draco pities the poor sod who'll have to dance with her at the Yule Ball.

"Right. So I think it's time I got going. It was..." she pauses, looking slightly uncertain. "...Nice to talk to you, I guess."

Draco nods his head. "Likewise, Potter."

She smiles at him, and her eyes light up in the process.

"Potter?" he calls out, as she turns to head back in her original direction.

"Yeah?" she asks, turning partly.

"Green suits you."

"Thanks, Malfoy," she says, flushing slightly. He doesn't know if it's from the cold or from his _compliment_.

Draco stares at her, as she scurries off into the East-wing of the castle. Bemused, he shakes his head, watching the snowflakes that have begun to fall.

It's the snow, he decides. It's the snow that has made him so fucking kind and _charitable_. Just like Potter.

He belatedly realises that he must have asked Potter to the ball, to avoid the entire Pansy situation.

Or maybe, he can ask Greengrass' younger sister to the ball?

Yes. That's what he'll do.

He'll ask Astoria Greengrass to the ball, and blackmail Blaise into taking Pansy.

Yes, that's what he'll do.

Draco leans back against the wall, watching the snow fall gently.

He can't get Potter's giggling out of his head, though, for some reason.

Will the sight of snow falling and red apples be irreversibly linked to Potter now?

Hell, how did Potter manage to spoil his peace of mind, even when physically absent?

* * *

 **Word Count** : 972

 **AN** :

I forgot to update. Sorry.


	8. December 8th, 1998

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #21 (object) Advent Candle

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 8th, 1998_

 _Tuesday_

* * *

"Malfoy?"

Draco turns around, smirking. He knew that his persistence would pay off!

"Yes, Harriet dearest?" he asks, a smile playing on his face when she rolls her eyes at him.

"Right I've got something -"

Draco interrupts her, feeling victorious.

"I knew you'd come around. After all, who wouldn't want to date this hot bod?" he asks, gesturing to himself.

Harriet goggles at him, before laughing her tinkling laugh. Draco is pleased to note that she's blushing.

"Right, since you've asked me out forty-two times,-"

"Sixty-three times, actually,"

"-I've decided to give you a chance."

"Should I be celebrating? Ask all the house-elves to throw a feast?" he asks sarcastically. Her lips twitch in amusement, and all he can do is think about how _kissable_ they are.

"Did you really think it would be that easy?"

Wasn't being turned down sixty-three times hard enough as it is?

"What do you mean, Potter?"

"Well, you obviously have to win me over by figuring this out. It's a puzzle, or a riddle. And the answer is the day we'll have our first date."

"Occasionally, there has been a Malfoy in Ravenclaw. So I know I'm smart enough," he says nonchalantly.

She takes out a red candle with numbers etched on it in golden lettering from her bag and hands it over to him.

"Do you know what this is? Of course, you don't. This is an advent candle, Draco. It's used by Muggles to count down the number of days till Christmas. They usually burn it down number by number, level by level each day during supper."

"Alright?" Draco says, feeling uncertain. He stores away the fact that she called him 'Draco' to gloat over later.

"And here's your riddle. You're not allowed to ask for clues. And if you don't turn up, I'm going to tell Ron that you stood me up. He'd love to have a reason to punch you in the nose."

She stops talking, and stares at him. Draco waits patiently, until the silence becomes awkward.

"Er, Potter? The riddle?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. Got a bit distracted. Luna would say it's the Nargles," she says, laughing a bit nervously. It's Draco's turn to stare at her, because Potter has never behaved this way before.

She takes out a piece of parchment from her bag, and hands it to him.

"SeeyouaroundMalfoy," she calls out in a rush, before hurrying away.

Draco turns around to see her retreating form, slightly miffed that the school robes are hiding her figure. He sighs and looks back down at the folded piece of parchment.

He opens it, and the first thing that strikes him is that it smells like Harriet's perfume.

.

' _There was a young man named Dragon, who loved to paint pots. He stored the pots in a shed, away from the paws of his pet kneazle Lucy._

 _One cold winter's night, he painted sixty-three pots in all. Only forty-two came out looking lovely. So he burnt and charred the not-so-lovely ones into the blackest of ashes, and scattered them onto the frozen ice of a nearby lake._

 _The next morning, when he opened his shed, he was heartbroken to see that each and every pot he had ever painted had been smashed into smithereens. Hundreds of pots, all destroyed. In an attempt to avoid harming Lucy, he fed his pet the sap of the narcissus flower, afraid that if the kneazle were awake, he'd kill it._

 _He was about to step out of the shed, and incinerate the whole place to the ground, when the kiln suddenly flashed an orange light. Curious, he opened the door, to see sixteen pots remaining. Sixteen unpainted pots, whose stories he could paint again._

 _He closed the kiln door, and decided to head back to his house, the pain of the other destroyed pots still fresh in his heart. On his way out, in a dusty corner of the shed, he saw a candle, sitting innocently, amidst cobwebs and fur-balls._

 _His anger and bitterness slowly started seeping away, and instinctively, he took the candle and placed it in his pocket._

 _Instead of mourning the broken pots, he decided to celebrate the remaining ones. In honour of the ones which escaped Lucy's destruction, he lit the candle up for each and every meal, one pot a meal._

 _And when he had finished having that many meals, he knew he was fine enough to go back to the shed once again, and start cleaning up the past. He had a new future to paint. He'd walk on water, rather than give up this chance he had._

 _He revived Lucy with the pollen of the narcissus flower, forgiving it for all its past mistakes._

 _The past didn't matter, when there was a future to paint.'_

.

Draco glares at the parchment. The stupid Girl-Who-Won was trying to get him to _forgive_ Father? Like he'll ever do that.

He stares at the candle in his hand. She'd called it an advent candle, hadn't she? And 'Dragon' in the story had lit it up at sixteen meals.

Does that mean he has to wait through sixteen meals? That gives him the time, but not the place.

Draco decides to figure out the venue after dinner. In the meantime, he plans to light the candle up at dinner, so that she can see that he's already on the way to solving her stupid 'riddle'.

He's about to stuff the parchment into his pocket, when he sees something written on the other side, in tiny script.

.

 _'P.S. I really hope you figure it out.'_

.

Draco finds himself going to dinner that night, smiling.

* * *

 **Word Count** : 941

 **AN** :

This was so silly. But I had to work in a riddle, and the advent candle catered best to that. Their date'll be covered... Soon.

Did you notice that it's set in their Eighth Year?

8 down, 23 to go. :)


	9. December 9th, 2002

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #38 (food/drink) Gingerbread (House/Man)

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 9th, 2002_

 _Monday_

* * *

"Harry!"

Draco watches from the sofa, as his cousin, once removed and unofficial godson comes jumping out of the Floo.

"Teddy!" cries his wife, as she lifts him up and spins him around. She places a kiss on the four year old's head, before placing him back on the ground.

"Draco!" calls out the boy, before launching himself into Draco's lap. Draco ruffles the boy's hair affectionately.

"What's up, Edward?" he asks, knowing how the younger boy hates his full name. Predictably, his nose scrunches up, before he turns it into the beak of a duck.

The kid's such a talented Metamorphmagus.

"Did he get there alright?" comes the voice of his aunt from the Floo.

"Yes, Andy. He's here safe."

"He's been going on and on about a ginger house you've planned to build with him."

"Ginger _bread_ house, nana!" shrieks Teddy, turning his hair pink.

"Of course, Teddy," the older woman says, indulgently.

"I hope he isn't much trouble, Harry. I'll be with Narcissa, helping her buy clothes for the twins, if you want to find me."

Draco's heart swells a little, at the mention of his two kids. They're both brats already, even though they're only five months old. He's convinced that the two of them wake up at 3 am every day, just for fun. Privately, he thinks Harry is as relieved as he is that Mother is so involved in looking after them.

"Have fun, Teddy. Bye Draco, Harriet," she calls out, before her head disappears from the fire.

Teddy's already rushed into the kitchen, and Draco stands up, putting the newspaper away.

"Why do I feel you're using this maternity leave as a mini-vacation?" he asks his wife, as she comes close to give him a chaste peck on his lips.

"You're just jealous that I get to catch up on my sleep while you have to go work," she says, smirking. He's pretty sure that she's copied his trademark smirk.

"Have fun with that tyke," he says, kissing her. She draws back to adjust the collar of his robes.

"Tell Kingsley that I'll review some case-files tomorrow, will you? Remind him to send them over, though."

Draco's about to make a comment about being her personal owl, when a voice screams from the kitchen, "Harry! Millie says I'm not allowed to come inside the kitchen!"

Harriet catches him rolling his eyes, and taps him on the nose.

"Oi, Ted. Your Uncle Draco is leaving to work. Don't you want to say bye?" she yells out. For such a petite woman, she can make a lot of noise.

"Bye," comes a robotic voice from the kitchen, before there's a sound of shattering china.

"Have a nice day, love," Harry tells him absently, as she hurries out of the living-room. He takes a moment to ogle at her retreating backside. Her curves seem even more pronounced after the pregnancy, and Draco doesn't know whether it's heaven or hell.

He grabs some Floo powder, and Floos to the Ministry.

~o~

It's almost 5 pm, and Draco can finally go home.

His assistant, a squib named Derek, comes in with a roll of parchment.

"Letter from the missus," he says, handing over the roll.

Draco sighs. From experience, he knows that whenever Harry chooses to send an owl instead of Floo calling him, it means trouble.

.

' _Dearest_ _husband_ _mine,_

 _Remember how Teddy and I were supposed to make a gingerbread house? The bread has come out all hard and is absolutely inedible. INEDIBLE! You don't want to break the heart of this poor little boy, do you?_

 _Buy a gingerbread house before coming home, please? You'll get one in any Muggle bakery in London which has Christmassy decorations. You love me enough to go find a proper Muggle bakery, right? I promise, I'll be on diaper duty for the next week, if you do this._

 _Also, did you speak to Kingsley?_

 _Remember, ginger_ _bread_ _house. Not ginger house or any other possible variation._ _Buy one which has the windows and doors already decorated. I want it to have chimneys too._

 _Ted thinks I'm making the house while he's taking a nap. (He's passed out from a sugar rush.) And your mum's coming home with the twins soon. Hurry up, will you, love?_

 _Lots of kisses,_

 _Harry'_

.

Draco stares at the letter in hand, belatedly noticing that Derek has disappeared from the scene. Harry's letter swings between being coaxing and being demanding. He lets out a prolonged sigh, before getting up from his desk.

He can't believe the things he does for this woman, this woman who somehow managed to sneak her way into his heart from merely being the object of his teenage obsession.

He decides to pay a visit to Granger, probably even make a donation to that lame charity she runs. That should prove sufficient to get her to help him find this weird Muggle baked item, right?

Subtle bribery, that's the way to go.

Draco smiles slightly maniacally, glad that marriage, becoming a father of two and a godfather of one hasn't made him soft and mushy.

He's relieved to know that he still has the Malfoy edge.

* * *

 **Word Count** : 855

 **AN** :

Did I thank you for favouriting/following/reviewing? No? Here it is. Thanks a lot. :)


	10. December 10th, 1999

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #18 (object) Christmas Card

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 10th, 1999_

 _Friday_

* * *

"Ah, Draco! You're home!" calls out his beautiful girlfriend cheerfully, right after he steps out of the fireplace.

Her voice is too cheerful. It makes him suspicious. She's never home this early, and she's certainly never _this_ cheerful after a day at the Auror Office.

He heads straight to the kitchen to get something to drink from the refrigerator. It's a Muggle device, and it's better than the cooling charms that the house-elves use.

Who would have thought that Muggles would have done something so useful? And that too, without magic? Harry says that the Muggles have even been to the moon, but Draco doubts it. There's no actual proof, is there?

"Where are you?"

"Kitchen," he calls out, as he finishes a glass of pumpkin juice. He hears footsteps- the harsh clacking of high heels on a wooden floor- and Harriet's there, beaming at him from the doorway.

She's all dressed up in a set of midnight blue robes, and is even wearing the pearl necklace that he got her for her nineteenth birthday. Her messy hair has been tamed to fall gently with the slightest of waves and all he can do is stare.

He stops gaping at her long enough to ask her a question. "Have I forgotten something? Is it some important date today? Am I supposed to be getting you a present?"

She laughs that tinkling laugh of hers - that laugh is so uniquely hers that Draco feels it characterises her. "Of course not, silly. But you might want to book us a table somewhere fancy for the thirteenth. Seeing as I planned our first date."

Draco already has a date planned out, but it's for the twelfth. That way, it will be an unexpectedly expected surprise. Draco stops himself from smirking. It won't do to let her know he's up to something.

"If you've finished drinking _all_ the pumpkin juice I made just yesterday, will you hurry up and go have a bath? I've set some robes on the bed for you. You have half an hour to get ready."

He stares at her, his eyes narrowed. The narrowing of eyes is a trademark move of Harriet's.

Holy Merlin, she's rubbing off on him.

He sets his special goblet (encrusted with tiny emeralds) down on the counter, and stalks towards her. He puts his hands on either side of her, and captures her against the wall. He leans in.

She stares at him defiantly.

"Care to tell me what's going on?" he asks, trying to make his voice low and velvety. Harry gives him a disdainful look.

"Are you trying to intimidate me, Malfoy?"

"Yes, Potter. You see, you've always been shitty at acting and lying. So why don't you just tell me why you're all dolled up?"

She sighs and nestles herself onto his shoulder. Apparently, his intimidation tactics suck.

"You won't like the reason," she says softly into his ear.

"Try me."

"Your mum and Andy think it's a great idea though."

"Will you just tell me already, Scarface?" he asks, not knowing where this is going. With Father in prison, his immediate family is made of only women. And one small boy. He's the last man standing.

"Have you heard of Christmas cards?"

"Nope. Is it a Muggle thing?"

"Yup," she says, slightly brightly. "Every year, the family comes together to take a family picture, which they make into a card, like a greeting card, and send to their relatives and their friends with their greetings for Christmas."

Now he knows where this is heading, and being the Slytherin he is, he plans to utilise it to his benefit. He can probably get her to do his _chores_ for a week!

"You want us to do something similar for Yule?"

"So you're not mad?" she asks, almost hopefully, as she turns her face slightly sideways. Her nose touches his cheek. She smells lovely, as usual.

"I'm not too keen on having so many Muggle things invading our lives, you know?" he says, trying to make his voice light. He doesn't really have a problem with the idea, but that doesn't mean he'll walk away without getting something out of it.

"Well, when we have kids, it'll be such a wonderful tradition. It'll be so nice for them to see the cards from before they were born. It'll show the evolution of our relationship."

Draco pulls back in surprise.

"Kids?"

There's a flash of hurt in her eyes, and she asks guardedly, "Do you not want to have children with me?"

And there's something in his heart that makes him want to yell from the tallest tower on the planet. He feels like a bloody Hufflepuff.

"Trust me, I want to have kids with you. It's just... I never thought of _kids_ , as in the plural."

She leans up and kisses him hard. He feels like tiny bubbles are popping inside him.

"So you'll do it?" she asks.

"I'm not all that willing, but I can be persuaded..." he peters off, as she scowls at him.

"Fine, what do you want me to bribe you with? Grocery shopping for a week?"

Her suggestion is tempting, but he says impulsively, without thinking, "I get to name our firstborn."

She gapes at him, before beginning to smile brilliantly. And then, she stops, all of a sudden.

"You can't name him Draco Junior. And if it's a girl, I want it to be a flower name."

"Malfoys haven't had a girl in the past twenty-seven generations," he says, without thinking.

"I know. Mione made me read the genealogy books last year. Now will you go get dressed? I still have to put on my make-up. And these new shoes are killing me. I think I'll fall at least once tonight."

He shakes his head and picks her up, bridal style.

"We can't have you falling and hurting yourself, can we?"

She sticks her tongue out at him.

He laughs.

* * *

 **Word Count** : 995 (I had to go back and remove much of the fluffiness. :P )

 **AN** :

Hope you liked it. Leave me a review? *puppy dog eyes*


	11. December 11th, 1993

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #23 (object) Mistletoe

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 11th, 1993_

 _Saturday_

* * *

Draco is positively gleeful.

His plan will soon come into action, and he can't stand still. If he were a girl, he'd be tittering right now.

He stands in the shadows of the corridor, smirking to himself. Of course, a lot of the plan depends on Greg actually doing as he's been told to do, but even if Greg fails, Draco has Vince as back up.

Most of the students have entered the Great Hall for dinner already, but the victim of his latest plan hasn't arrived yet. It isn't even a Hogsmeade weekend, so why is she late to dinner?

He peers into the Great Hall to see that the Weasel and the Mudblood are there already, discussing something in their uncouth way.

Draco gets wrapped up in his daydream.

Pottyhead will soon walk in through the doors, and Greg will follow her. The magic Draco has placed on the disillusioned mistletoe hanging from the doorframe will lift, and she'll have to kiss Gregory in front of _everyone_. And if no one is paying attention, Draco will yell out about the mistletoe, so that everyone can witness her first kiss.

It's the perfect plan to ruin her first kiss. The _humiliation_. The _embarrassment_.

And Draco has come up with it, all thanks to her. He had found her in the library yesterday, telling her Mudblood about how she envisaged her first kiss to be.

What kind of an idiot lets out personal things like that in a public place like a library? No wonder she is a Gryffindor and not a Ravenclaw.

Draco feels like gloating. The charm he has placed on the mistletoe is advanced magic, one that recognises a particular person's presence. All he had needed was a bit of hair from Potter's head, which he'd got this morning under the pretext of checking if that unruly mass on her head was hair or rope.

She had hexed him for pulling her braid, but no one had been around to witness that.

"Can we go inside? We're hungry. We didn't get to eat anything after lunch," whines Greg, but Draco knows it's a lie. After all, he'd seen Goyle attacking a muffin just a couple of hours back.

"Do you want to take revenge on Potter or not?" he hisses at them. Vince shrugs.

"If you're so keen on it, why aren't _you_ the one kissing her?" asks Vince, before grabbing Greg by the arm and dragging him in. Draco stands at the doorway, gaping at them.

 _Vincent Crabbe grew a spine?_

Someone knocks into him from behind, and as the green leaves start appearing above his head from the doorframe, he knows that he is doomed.

"Move it, Malfoy!"

No. _No._ NO.

This isn't how it's supposed to go. Pottyhead was supposed to bump into Goyle, triggering the detection spell.

Draco remains frozen to the spot, and Potter tries to brush past him forcefully.

Goyle, the traitor, yells out from the Slytherin table, "ARE MALFOY AND POTTER STANDING UNDER MISTLETOE?"

The entire Hall's attention is turned to the two of them, and Draco wants to slink into the shadows. His plan is a failure.

Pottyhead looks up, and gapes at the plant like a fish.

Some idiot from the Hufflepuff table yells out, "Kiss!" and soon the entire Great Hall is filled with a chorus of "Kiss! Kiss!"

Draco wishes the ground would open up and eat him alive. He chances a look at the Head table, to see Sev glaring at the Hufflepuff table. The old coot, on the other hand, is smiling benignly at Scarface, instead of trying to control the rowdy students.

At least he isn't the only one mortified in this scenario. His plan isn't a _complete_ failure.

He turns slightly to regard her, and when she looks at him warily, her face flushed, he tries his best to sneer at her.

"Scared, Potter?" he asks.

"You wish," she says, and Draco almost cracks a smile. Almost. She obviously remembers their dialogue from last year.

"I don't think you're brave enough to kiss me."

"I've kissed people before," she says nonchalantly, but Draco knows it's a lie.

"Kissed someone on the mouth?" he asks, and she becomes a bright pink.

"Get on with it already," yells some Gryffindor, and the entire Hall seems to agree with him. He's glad to see McGonagall admonishing the boy. Isn't he the Quidditch commentator?

Draco's so focussed on watching Jordan getting chastised, that he doesn't really notice Potter moving closer until her lips are on his.

His eyes go wide with surprise, and he's glad to note that her eyes are equally as wide as well. He leans just a tiny bit in, pressing his lips against hers, before the two of them move away.

The Hall is filled with cheers and boisterous hoots. The Weasley twins have taken to wolf whistling, and Draco's pretty sure he's blushing as much as Potter is.

For once, Potter rushes away without calling him a name, and Draco pays her the same courtesy by walking back to his table and trying to merge with the furniture. Even his Slytherin mates are laughing at him, and Goyle looks a bit too smug.

Just when he thinks it can't get any worse, Snape stands up and announces detention both for Potter _and him_ for a revolting display of affection in public. Pansy sneers at him.

Draco decides that the whole plan failed because he trusted Goyle. He vows to take revenge on the boy.

As he starts cooking up another plot in his head, he licks his lips, absentmindedly. They taste like strawberries.

He continues plotting, but now, he has the faintest of smiles on his face.

Gregory Goyle shall go down.

* * *

 **Word count** : 962

 **AN** :

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Alan Rickman. This is my most favourite chapter, so far, and it even mentions Snape, which works out perfectly. It's not like I knew Rickman personally, but when I heard the news, I was so heartbroken. Severus Snape is one of my most favourite characters in canon, and Alan Rickman did a fantastic job immortalising the character on screen.

RIP, Alan Rickman. (1946 - Always)


	12. December 12th, 2001

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #5 (word) Fireplace

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 12th, 2001_

 _Wednesday_

* * *

He sits alone in their home, staring at the fireplace. There's a glass of gin and tonic in his hand, and he studies the flames that dance in the hearth.

In the end, it's not him who left, but her. All along, she has been the one who has needed reassurance that he'll stay with her, but now, it's him who is left alone.

They've not even been married a year now. Was Skeeter right when she said they were moving too fast?

The flames are mesmerising, almost making him forget about Harry walking out. Or is that because of the alcohol?

This is the only fireplace in the house which has an active Floo connection. The wards are keyed to him, so he'll know if she Apparates or Portkeys in. He waits by the fire, hoping she'll Floo in.

Their argument last night had been so trivial; he can't even remember what it was about anymore. His senses are growing numb. Is that his hand shaking?

She's been gone for less than fourteen hours, but Draco already feels a deep sense of loss. What if she finally realises that she's too good for him?

He is lost in thoughts of guilt and self-hatred when the Patronus of a stag appears in front of him.

 _"Unlock the wards, you moron. I can't believe the fact that you've locked me out of our own house."_

Draco stares at the stag, convinced it's a hallucination, when Kreacher, the mansion's house-elf pops up in front of him.

"Mistress is waiting outside the gates, Black sir. Mistress wants to come in," he says in his raspy voice, before saying disapprovingly, "Is Master Black drunk?"

It's one sobriety potion and two more Patronus-messages later that Draco is coherent enough to work on the wards. He's walking towards the front door, when it flies open and his wife glares at him from behind a bunch of woollen clothes.

Any other day, he would have made fun of her for looking like a penguin. Today, he's just glad that she's back.

Kreacher makes some comment about hot soup being good for the weather and disappears, promising to make French onion soup for lunch.

Draco wants to hug her and apologise to her. He can now remember what their fight had been about - her ever increasing working hours at the Auror Department. It doesn't matter now.

But that's not what he says.

"Where were you?"

"I slept at the Weasleys'. Why aren't you at work?"

"I could ask you the same," he replies, hating the way she's glaring at him. She hasn't glared at him with that much hatred since Third Year.

She starts removing her many layers of clothing. When he closes the distance to help her out of her coat, she tenses first, before relaxing into his touch.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into her ear, and she turns around in his arms to face him.

"I'm sorry too."

Her eyes fill up with tears. Shite, what has he done now?

"Don't be. I was an idiot. I just wanted you to spend more time with me. I was being selfish."

Her nose wrinkles as she tries to not let her tears spill.

"I'm so incredibly sorry for getting so mad that I walked out. I... I always whine and make you promise that you'll never walk away, and I just stormed out in anger. I'm so sorr-"

He cuts her off, "You came back. That's the only thing that matters."

"I won't walk off again. I promise."

"Thanks."

He kisses her after that, but she pulls away too soon.

"I have something to tell you."

"What?"

"I'll tell you after you have a bath. You smell like alcohol, and it smells awful. Kreacher told me all about how you stayed up all night, drinking. Very responsible, Malfoy."

~o~

An hour later, they're sitting in the same room where he'd been sitting earlier. The flames have died down, the embers glowing eerily in the darkened room. It's noon, and Harry has closed all the curtains, for some reason.

"I went to The Burrow last night. This morning when I woke up, I was sick again. Molly thought it could be morning sickness, which a few witches go through when pregnant. Apparently it's common in Halfbloods and Muggleborns."

She pauses uncertainly, and Draco stares at her, his mouth slightly open. He doesn't know what to think, or say. So he takes her hand in his and draws circles on her hand using his thumb.

"She did some spell to check and her wand gave out two bubbles of blue light."

He knows that spell. He nods slowly.

"So it looks like we'll be having two Potter-Malfoys running around soon," she says, her green eyes wide.

"Our kids are going to have hyphenated surnames?"he asks, trying to make her smile.

It works, and she grins at him feebly.

He kisses her forehead before wrapping his arm around her slender shoulders. She rests against his side.

"Can you believe the fact that we'll have twins?" he asks rhetorically.

"Molly thinks I'm seven weeks along. I think we should go to St Mungo's this weekend."

"Of course, love. We'll need to tell Mother soon."

"We'll tell her next Monday when she comes over for dinner."

He watches as the embers die in the fireplace. He feels odd. It's happiness, but it's also fear and anxiety and worry. He thinks he might be sick.

"Have I lately told you I love you?" she asks.

"Just yesterday, at the Ministry Floo."

"Well, I love you."

He swallows his worries and concerns and croaks out, "I love you too."

* * *

 **Word Count** : 943

 **AN** :

I've got the remaining 19 days planned out. Yay!

I'd like to thank Pink lady of love, HunterOfArtemisDaughterOfHades, Captain CV, Guest, hillstar, SilveryWind, Theodora Snowbird, Angel N Darkness and hs96 for reviewing. Thanks for your support. :)


	13. December 13th, 1998

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #28 (plot theme/action) Skating at an ice rink/frozen lake

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 13th, 1998_

 _Sunday_

* * *

Draco is too nervous to eat dinner, not that he'll ever admit it. The candle sits next to his plate of untouched food, burning away.

He looks over at the Gryffindor table to see if she's just as nervous, only to see that she's staring at him intently. She gives him a sheepish grin at being caught, and turns away.

He thinks he has figured out the place correctly. He isn't too sure about the time, he just knows it's after dinner tonight. He figures it will most likely be after curfew. After all, Potter and her crew have always favoured the post-curfew period to roam the halls, haven't they?

Anyways, he has a back-up plan. He has paid two first years to follow Harriet once dinner is over. It's only a precautionary measure, but he hopes he won't have to rely on those two kids at all.

According to Blaise, those two are the brightest of their year. Draco feels he's made a mistake by entrusting them with his invisibility cloak, but it's too late now.

Draco hopes he has figured out the riddle rightly.

~o~

The air is biting cold against the exposed parts of his face. Why couldn't Potter have chosen a warm and comfortable place as the venue of their first date? She's such a typical Gryffindor.

He takes the now rumpled parchment out of the pocket of his trench coat and analyses it in the moonlight.

 _'Blackest of ashes'_ and _'frozen ice of a nearby lake'._ It has to mean the Black Lake. And _'walk on water'_ is another clue. It has to mean the Black Lake, it simply must.

If it isn't the Black Lake, one of those two firsties would have told him about the different venue by now, right? Draco can't believe the fact that he's relying on two eleven-year olds. What has the world come to?

Just as he stuffs the parchment back in, he hears muffled footsteps.

"Hi!" comes Harriet's voice, a bit too loud in the silence of the night.

He stares at her, till her face starts turning red.

"Draco?" she asks, and it's the way she says his name that kicks his brain into action.

"Hello," he says abruptly, trying to remember his manners. This is the girl he has been obsessing over for the past few years. He can't afford to scare her off now. He takes her mitten-covered hand in his and places a kiss on it.

She gives him an amused look, and it only makes her eyes sparkle in the moonlight. She has such beautiful eyes.

"Did you really figure out the riddle on your own?" she asks, a sceptical look on her face.

"Yes, can't believe I'm smart enough?" he asks, smirking a little. This is familiar territory, their verbal back and forth.

"You're also underhanded enough to have two first year snakes tail me to check if you got the venue right," she says, tilting her head to her left.

"H-How did you know?" he asks, feeling a little surprised. Those two had his cloak, for Merlin's sake!

"I have my ways. But honestly, you should have chosen two kids who giggled less."

Draco feels like smacking his forehead.

If those two were the brightest of that year, that generation was doomed.

"You ready?" she asks,

"For what?" he asks warily. The expression she sports is one of excitement. Which means she's going to do something reckless.

"Ice skating, you blond prat. Didn't you figure that out? I did mention _'walk on water'_."

"What?"

"Don't tell me ice-skating is a Muggle thing," she says, almost pouting. _She's so bloody adorable._

Draco feels so out of depth at the moment. Nothing about this date is going right. He should have been the one who planned it, not her.

He takes in a deep breath. The cold air seems to clear his head a little.

"It might be a Muggle thing, but I'm game to try it, _Harry_."

She turns pink and smiles at him beatifically, and somehow, he just knows that this date might not end up too badly. In fact, it might be the first of many dates to come.

~o~

Almost an hour later, he has finally gotten hang of how to move his legs so that he doesn't fall flat on the ice. This ice-skating seems to be a good exercise.

Harriet finally calls for a break, and they skate back to solid land on their transfigured boots. He follows her slowly, appreciating how her gait moves from right to left to right, smoothly.

 _Who would have thought Scarface could be graceful?_

"When did you learn to skate?" he asks, curious, as they sit on a conjured blanket. They're both sprawled out, warm and flushed from skating.

Over the past few months, they've become sort-of friends, and she has told him a lot about her past. It's just tiny anecdotes, really. He has told her a lot about his childhood too, though it's nothing as horrific as hers.

"Last June. Mione insisted that we take a break from all the reconstruction activity. Ron said it was too hot to even take a break, so she Apparated the three of us to this ice-skating rink in London. It's a place which has artificially frozen ice to skate on. She made us perfect our gait, and only then let us go out to eat lunch. Ron was so annoyed by the end of the whole thing," she says, laughing.

He decides he likes, no, _loves_ her laugh.

A peaceful silence descends on the pair of them, and Draco thinks it's a wonderful first date. It's definitely not as bad as the time he took Pansy to Madame Puddifoot's. Merlin knows he'll never take Harriet there.

Snowflakes start falling and she scrunches up her nose. He studies her side profile, his thoughts flying in all directions. There's just something about her that makes him feel so light.

 _Is this love?_

He hopes it is.

* * *

 **Word Count:** Exactly 1000, not a word more, not a word less. [Because  Pink lady of love challenged me. ;)]

 **AN:**

Did you hear something whizz by?

That was the competition's deadline. *cringes*

However, I _will_ complete this.


	14. December 14th, 1992

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #22 (object) Christmas Tree

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 14th, 1992_

 _Monday_

* * *

Draco rushes into the Great Hall, having heard that the Yule trees are being decorated. No one knows this, but Draco loves seeing the trees being decorated by magic.

Of course, he'll just make critical remarks about the decorations and go away, lest a fellow Slytherin realise he enjoys watching such a _girlish_ activity.

He curses his luck when he sees that Pottyhead is there as well, with her two side-kicks. The Mudblood and the Weasel are bickering as usual, as Scarface gives Professor Flitwick suggestions on where to place the decorations.

The decorations on the _main tree_? This is partiality!

It would be so convenient if the Heir of Slytherin finishes off all three of them. With the Mudblood out of the way, he'll be second in academics. With Pottyhead out of the way, Slytherin will have the Quidditch Cup. And one less pauper redhead would just be a bonus.

It's too bad that Professor Flitwick and Potter are engaged in an actual conversation. It would have been an ideal opportunity to goad the three of them.

Draco's slightly miffed about how uneventful the day has been. He has to do something to make the day better.

So he walks around, criticising the work of the Charms Club members about their shoddy decorations on the other trees. Some of them glare at him, but no one says anything.

They all know that Father is a Governor on the School Board.

Vince and Greg finally join him, being the faithful lackeys they are. He keeps an eye out on the Stupid Trio, as he has named them, waiting for a chance to strike at them.

It's been _such_ a boring day, though. It would be so funny to watch the Weasel belch slugs again!

Finally Professor Flitwick leaves to inspect the work on the other trees.

Draco puts on the standard Malfoy swagger and with his trademark etched on his face, approaches the Gryffindorks.

The Mudblood is speaking. "-Mum and Dad always let me decorate-"

The Weasel mutters something which sounds like, "Bloody perks of being a single child."

Scarface meanwhile speaks with a dreamy expression on her face, "When I grow up and have my own house, I'll place the star on the top."

The Mudblood hasn't stopped speaking though. "-But candy-canes are banned. Did you know, I wasn't allowed to eat sweets till I turned nine? Mum says-"

He stares, aghast, at the three of them. They aren't even listening to each other. What kind of a conversation is this? At least when he speaks, Vince and Greg make an attempt to hear him out.

He's so lost in thought that he doesn't realise that they've stopped speaking.

Vince nudges him, and he realises that they're staring at him. More like glaring, but who cares.

"Can we help you, Malfoy?" Potter asks, crossing her arms. What an arrogant idiot. Thinking she can decorate the main tree the way she wants to.

He addresses each of them, "Not eating sweets won't help your rabbit teeth, Mudblood. Weasel, we all know you hang around as Potter's sidekick because she's rich. And Scarface. You'll never get to put a star on a tree. You'll end up just like your parents."

It's not his best dialogue, but it's with satisfaction that he watches their varied reactions.

Weasley turns red with anger. It clashes awfully with his hair colour.

Granger turns pink from embarrassment and tries to hide her teeth.

Potter clenches her fists and glares at him like she'd like to punch him.

And to think some idiots think _she_ is the Heir of Slytherin.

Weasley gets his broken wand out, but Professor Flitwick hurries over to inspect the main tree once again. How unfortunate.

"Are you children behaving?" he squeaks.

"Of course, Professor. I was just praising your exemplary Charms work on the tree. Potter here even offered to help me research the spells," he lies smoothly.

"Is that so? Five points to both Gryffindor and Slytherin for inter-house unity," he says, before turning away to talk to a Hufflepuff Prefect.

Draco smirks at the three of them, as they stare at him, their mouths open. The Weasel looks even more troll-like than usual. Potter looks absolutely furious.

These Gryffindorks are so much fun to mess around with!

He walks away, Vince and Greg in tow, feeling smug.

Annoying the Stupid Trio _and_ earning house points?

It's official.

He, Draco Malfoy is the 'awesome-est' Slytherin around.

Too bad Father refuses to tell him who the Heir is.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 718

 **AN:**

This round of updates is brought to you by my upcoming Math exam, which I have in less than 12 hours.

(I finished writing this bunch back in Feb. I've written chapters till the 20th. I'm lazy. I procrastinate.)

I'll reply to the reviews once I'm done with the exam.

Mia:

No, Harriet didn't take Diggory to the ball. Think of someone who was equally dateless (in canon) before the ball. The oldest two: blond boy and raven-haired girl. And they do have star names, though only Narcissa calls them by those. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! :D


	15. December 15th, 2018

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #34 (weather) Frosty/Icy

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 15th, 2018_

 _Saturday_

* * *

Draco stares in shock at the letter.

He reads it again, just to be sure.

It's _so wrong_.

.

.

.

 _'Dearest Ted,_

 _I can't wait to see you over the holidays. There's not much to write about, apart from the fact that Scor is being an absolute arse about Dominique. :P He keeps insisting that he doesn't like her. He's such a prat. And she denies liking him too. Were we ever in this much denial over each other? o.O_

 _But you were a prat last winter, trying to push me off, saying OWLs were important. But that wasn't denial, right? That was more of you trying to be a gentleman. You were such an idiot, but that only made me fall for you even more. :* Aren't you glad your plan backfired? xD_

 _Coming back to Scor, he knows that something's going on. He doesn't know that it's between you and me, though. I'm thinking of coming clean to him this Yule, or sooner, whenever we see you. Or shall I tell him in the train? Will you come pick to the platform? I can't wait to snog you senseless. ;)_

 _Is the Auror office treating you well? Is Mum treating you alright? Are the cases getting harder? If you need a bit of a distraction, think of the red lacy underwear I'm planning on showing you this Yule. ;)_

 _Merlin, I mentioned Mum and underwear in the same paragraph. I think I'll stop writing now. Eeyore is getting impatient. I think he wants to start flying already. He just pecked me. Give him some owl treats, okay?_

 _Kisses,_

 _Lily'_

.

.

.

"Draco?" asks his wife of almost eighteen years. He looks up to see her looking at him concernedly over the breakfast table. He hands her the letter, trying to contain his anger.

She takes it, one eyebrow raised. When she finishes reading it, both her eyebrows are raised. She drops the letter on the table and looks up at him.

"Huh."

Draco doesn't know how she can be so calm. He's shaking with fury.

Harry gets up and comes sits on his lap, and starts rubbing circles on his back.

"The vein in your forehead is throbbing. Calm down. You already have high BP. Deep breaths, come on, love."

Once he's calmed down (marginally), he says, "They're cousins."

" _Second_ cousins. Not illegal in Britain."

"He's too old for her!"

"Four years isn't much. His parents had a thirteen year age gap."

"She's a _child_!"

"I know, love," she says, placing her head on his shoulder. The hair at her temple has just started greying.

"Why aren't you angry about it?" he asks, feeling a little sick. "She's going to show him her-her-her thing? That rotten boy. We gave him too much space. We gave him so much and he took advantage of our daughter!"

"Draco."

"What?"

"Lily's liked him since she was six."

"WHAT! And you did _nothing_ about it?"

"How was I supposed to know it'll turn into something more?" she asks, moving back to meet his eyes.

"Do you think they've done... _It_?"

"We'll ask Teddy when he comes to dinner tonight. Right now, I think you should drink your BP potion," she sighs, once again burrowing her face onto his shoulder.

~o~

It's a very frosty dinner that takes place that night. It's like the frosty weather outside has percolated into the room.

Draco makes it a point to refer to him as Lupin. It's ' _Lupin, pass the salt'_ and _'Lupin, if you're done with the gravy, give it to me.'_ Harry glares at him every time he does this, though. But it's not like she isn't upset either. She keeps wringing her hands.

After Millie serves them dessert, Harry starts speaking.

"Have you lately heard from Lily, Ted?"

"I just got a letter this morning. I haven't read it, though. Thought I'd read it tonight."

Draco can see the way the Metamorphmagus' eyes light up. How is it he's never noticed it before?

"Lily's habit of putting her letters in envelopes instead of just rolling the parchment is very odd, wouldn't you say?" continues Harry.

Lupin gets an almost goofy smile as he says, "Yes, that's what makes her so special though."

Draco wants to punch the smarmy bastard with stupid blue hair.

"The thing is, the owls take the letters to the name written on the envelope, not the person to whom the letter is addressed to," she says, looking meaningfully at Lupin.

Finally that upstart idiot realises something is wrong, because his eyes return to their normal colour of brown. He eyes flick to Draco's for a second, before sliding back to Harry's.

It's Draco's turn to speak now, as planned.

"We got a letter from Lily today. But it wasn't meant for us."

He takes the letter out of his pocket and hands it to the pale boy. Lupin gulps visibly as he finishes reading the letter. His hair is no longer blue; it's a mousy brown.

"I can explain."

Draco gives him the frostiest glare he has ever given anyone. It's satisfying to see the boy shrivel a little under his gaze.

Harry asks Kreacher to get them a bottle of wine.

It's going to be a long night.

And he has a feeling that at the end of it, Harry might have to help him cover up a murder.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 900

 **AN:**

This set of updates might have plenty of typos. Let me know if you find any?

Btw, reviews are love!

Oh, and Ted/Lily is my next-gen OTP. So...


	16. December 16th, 1996

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #20 (object) Poinsettia Flower

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 16th, 1996_

 _Monday_

* * *

Harriet Potter has been staring at him from across the corridor for the past five minutes, as they all wait outside Slughorn's classroom. He smirks at her, and she turns away, blushing.

If he were prone to fits of childish display, he would pump his fists in the air right about now. It's obvious Potter is attracted to him.

When they're let in, he takes his customary seat next to Blaise and zones off as Slughorn gushes over Potter's work last class. Is she aware of the fact that the Know-It-All is glaring at her?

Draco knows, just _knows_ that Potter's sudden brilliance in Potions has something to do with that tattered text-book she holds in her hands. He can't wait to get _his_ hands on it to check if his hypothesis is correct.

He zones back in as Slughorn finishes speaking.

"We'll be brewing an antipyretic potion today. The recipe isn't there in your book, but don't worry, I have copies of the recipe here, one copy for each pair. It uses red poinsettia leaves, an ingredient that I don't expect most of you to have. I have bowls here, filled with it. One per table, of course.

"The pair which makes the best potion within the next ninety minutes will get a gift card to Honeydukes worth twenty Galleons. That's my Yule present to you," he says.

Draco feels his competitive streak waking up. He has to do at least better than Granger and show that upstart that he's better than her.

Slughorn continues, with an annoyingly cheerful expression on his face, "In order to encourage inter-house interactions, I've decided to pair a Gryffindor with a Slytherin together. I'll call out your partners now."

The entire class groans as one, and the stupid man chuckles.

Draco hopes that it won't be Weasley or Granger; he can't stand either of them. He won't admit it out loud, but a tiny part of him hopes it will be Potter.

His ears perk up when his name is called, followed by a 'Harry'. He can't believe this!

 _Thank you, Merlin. Thank you, Morgana._

The girl turns from her place at her workstation in the second row and smiles ever so slightly at him. He winks at her, and she grins. He feels ever so pleased at that.

Holy hell! Did he just _wink_? Father would have him by his balls if he ever found out that he, Draco, was behaving like a common Lothario.

Blaise nudges him and drawls, "You get a chance to sit next to Potter, eh? All your fantasies coming true, Malfoy?"

Draco makes sure he stamps on his friend's foot _extra_ hard.

~o~

They're sitting at their station, about to start working on the potion. At least, Draco is. Potter is poring over that book of hers, comparing it with the recipe sheet. He tries to take a peek, but she angles the book away every time he does so.

Finally, she closes her book and looks him in the eye, a hint of challenge present in her emerald eyes.

He's _enthralled_.

"Let's say I have a better recipe than the one Slughorn's given. Are you willing to try it out?"

"Sort of underhanded for a Gryffindor, isn't it?" he asks, smirking.

"It's not underhanded; I mean, Slughorn never told us to use _only_ his recipe. Now do you want that gift card or not?"

It's like being on the Quidditch pitch all over again, only that they're on the same side this time. Potions has never been this _thrilling_ before.

~o~

The potion is in its final stages, shimmering a translucent blue. And they have twenty minutes to go. They're definitely winning this thing.

Slughorn's busy trying to coax Pansy and Weasel into working together. Their potion is a vibrant red, much like the colour of Weasel's hair and face.

"Stir in the ground poinsettia leaves _now_ ," Potter commands.

He does so, but says in an annoyed voice, "Are you ever going to let me see that book. I know that's the only reason your abysmal potions grade has improved this year. You don't want me telling Slughorn, do you?"

She snaps her book shut and levels him with a cool stare.

"Why haven't you raised your sleeves, Malfoy? Every other male in this room has done so. You don't want me to bring that to Dumbledore's attention, do you?"

Suddenly, he doesn't feel hot and sweaty anymore. He feels cold.

Slughorn sweeps in at that moment, and starts raining praises about how the potion is a perfect violet colour, and how Potter's obviously inherited her mother's talent. But he doesn't really pay attention to it.

Draco feels sick.

Granger's glaring daggers at them, her hair frizzier than ever, as Slughorn gives them a joint gift-card. But it doesn't matter. Not anymore.

He wants to walk away, but Potter catches his hand as he turns. She holds it till the room empties, and then lets go. Draco has no idea why he didn't shrug it off before.

"Listen, I'm not going to tell anyone. And anyway, you keep my secret, I'll keep yours. So we're even, really."

"You don't hate me?" he asks, feeling out of his depth.

He's a Death Eater. She's the Chosen One. And she knows he's her enemy. She'll definitely hate him now, if she didn't already.

"I don't know. I don't think I ever did."

 _Wait, what?_

"I think you need the gift card more. Eat some chocolate, okay? It makes everything better."

She stands on her tiptoes and brushes her lips ever so slightly against his cheek before he can say anything.

She's out of the dungeon before he can _do_ anything.

He stuffs the gift card she'd pressed into his hand into his bag, and raises his hand to touch his face.

A faint scent of roses and Quidditch polish lingers in the space which she'd previously occupied.

He breathes it in.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 990

 **AN:**

My most favourite drabble in this bunch, hihi.

Did you know that poinsettia really does have fever-reducing properties? :O

Thank you for reading, reviewing, favouriting and following. You make my day. :)

Grâce à Theodora Snowbird, Bianca Di Angelo 0, slytherin-nette, Pink lady of love , Captain CV, SilveryWind, Guest, Mia, alia00 , Raven097 and harryislife for leaving behind reviews. :)


	17. December 17th, 2000

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #12 (colour) Snow White

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 17th, 2000_

 _Sunday_

* * *

It's a grey morning, but the whole place is iridescent, gleaming with snow.

His heart beats fast, but it's not out of fear. It's out of anticipation. It's out of excitement. Because what comes next, he knows, will be the best thing to ever happen to him.

He's marrying the girl of his dreams.

The guests, the bridesmaids, the groomsmen, his family - they all merge into the snow white background, as Harriet makes her way down the aisle, alone.

She takes his breath away.

Her hair is up in some fancy do and her gown is silver, white and blue, which stands out from the snow on the ground. She's the most beautiful creature he's ever laid his eyes on, and she actually _wants_ to be with him.

She's smiling at him; she's smiling for him. She's crying too, and Draco thinks he has never seen anything more pure or sacred. The expression on her face is one he'll never forget.

He's looking at her, but he's also looking at that shy girl he met at Madame Malkin's. He's looking at the girl who laughed after catching the Remembrall. The girl who fled in fear after talking to a snake; the girl who slapped him for stealing her eggnog. It's the girl he kissed under the mistletoe; the girl he danced with in the moonlight. She's the girl for whom he lied to Umbridge; the girl for whom he spied on the Dark Lord.

She's the girl who gave him a second chance at life. She's the girl who saved him from a path of hatred and bitterness.

She's his angel, his saviour, and more unbelievably, his lover. She's all that and she's something much more.

It's the way her green eyes shine when they smile. It's the way she scrunches her nose when she's annoyed. It's the way her eyes twitch when she's suspicious. It's the way she looks at him after they make love- like he holds the world. It's the way she holds his hand when they're walking on the road.

In those two minutes, he falls in love with her all over again.

His throat feels clogged, and he knows, _just_ _knows_ , that he's a minute or two away from crying himself. And won't Father have a field day in Azkaban when he finds out Draco cried at his wedding? Because according to him, Malfoys never cry.

But it doesn't matter. It really doesn't.

Life's general unpleasantness pales in comparison when he's about to get everything.

Because she's his _everything_.

When she reaches the dais, he helps her onto it.

"Hi," she says, her face slightly pink.

"Hi to you too," he says, feeling oddly light.

She's still crying, though she's smiling. He takes her face in his hands and rubs his thumbs on her cheeks, wiping the tears away. He's tempted to kiss her, but Mother would yell at the two of them after the ceremony if he does that.

She takes his face in her hands, fixing his hair with one hand while poking his face with the other. Her dainty fingers linger on his cheeks before she drops them to her sides.

He takes her hands in his and they turn around to face a Slughorn dressed in buttercup yellow.

Draco has no idea where life will take him but he knows that all he needs is her by his side.

In a matter of minutes, she'll be his, legally, and he'll be hers as well.

In her words, they'll be 'Mrs Malfoy and Mr Potter'.

 _He can't wait._

~o~

 _"Do you know,_

 _You know I love you so,_

 _You know I love you so."_

 _.._

"I love you, Mrs Potter-Malfoy," he says, a smile playing on his face, as he dances with his _wife_ for the first time.

"And I love you too, Mr Potter-Malfoy," she says, a smile playing on her lips.

She puts her head on his shoulder, and doesn't that feel all too familiar? It feels like coming home, her head right there on his shoulder.

They sway together to the music, as enchanted snow falls around them.

"Promise me you won't ever leave me, please?" she asks quietly, her voice breaking at the last word, her face still on his shoulder.

Draco pulls back to look at her face as her eyes look up to meet his. There's so much uncertainty in those emerald green eyes of hers.

Draco can't help it. He really can't. He leans down and kisses her. She parts her lips slightly, and he completely invades her mouth. Her hands go to clutch his head and Merlin, he can't wait for them to leave the ceremony and set off on their honeymoon.

Someone wolf-whistles, and someone else giggles.

When Draco and Harriet break apart, he briefly catches the eye of his glowering mother.

"Only death can do us apart, love," he reassures her, kissing her forehead.

He then does the only thing he can do, he spins his _wife_ around and continues dancing with her till her favourite song ends.

 _.._

 _"Look at the stars._

 _Look how they shine for you,_

 _And all the things that you do."_

* * *

 **Word count:** 856

 **A.N** :

Originally, their first dance as a married couple wasn't supposed to be included here, because I felt like that it would detract from the sanctity of the bride's walk down the aisle.

The song I chose for them was _Yellow_ by Coldplay. It suits them perfectly, eh? And yay for me, the album was released in July, 2000. It's my most favourite Coldplay song, so please do give it a listen. I promise you, you won't be disappointed.

Draco might be a little OOC, but he's getting married, so let's give him a break, hmm?

Reviews are love. :)


	18. December 18th, 2008

**Written for:** The  Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #9 (word) Tradition

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

 **WARNING:** Rating is M-ish for this chapter.

* * *

 _December 18th, 2008_

 _Thursday_

* * *

Draco wakes up to the sound of a shutter snapping.

"Harry?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

"Who else, love?"

He opens his eyes to see her putting her camera away on the side table.

"Eight years, and you still want to continue?"

"Of course I do! It's tradition!"

He tackles her and pushes her into the bed, as she screams and then laughs. He rolls them over, so that he's straddling her as she looks up at him with her green eyes sparkling. He pins her to the bed and lowers his head onto her neck and places a kiss on her clavicle. He moves to her pulse point and nibbles the skin there.

"You know what else is tradition, right?" he growls against her skin, as her breath hitches. It always pleases him to hear that.

He lifts his face off her and gently starts unbuttoning the shirt she's buttoned on haphazardly. He loves the way she wears his clothes with utter confidence, like she owns them. She's done that ever since they first made love nearly ten years back, and he hopes she'll never change.

"Draco, we have to leave earlier this time. The Bratty Quartet drove your mum spare last year when we spent extra time in the Bahamas, remember?"

Draco lowers his head and runs his nose down her neck, as she grinds her pelvis against his growing erection. He nibbles on her neck, in retaliation.

As she moans, he replies, "They can wait. This is what led to their procreation, anyhow."

"Yeah, but -"

Draco continues on downwards, peppering kisses till he reaches her navel, and she gasps as he pauses to reach up and flick at a hardened nipple.

"It's just one night a year. And if they're so dependent on us, they'll never survive in Hogwarts."

She runs her hands down his back, scratching it mildly. He loves it when she does that.

"In James' and Albus' defences, they just turned two."

"In my defence, we didn't get our annual honeymoon the year those two were born," he says, moving upwards to capture her lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

When they break apart for breath, Harry says with a sigh, "And in my defence, all of them drive us crazy almost every night. Your mum can deal with them once a year."

"Don't worry, Mother loves all the attention she gets from our Quidditch team of a family. She likes feeling needed."

Harriet rolls her eyes. She always scoffs when he mentions his idea of how Harriet and him, along with Scorpius, Lily, James, Albus and Teddy could be a Quidditch team someday. But he knows that secretly, deep down in her heart she loves the idea as much as he does.

"You know, you act all tough with the kids, but you're just a giant cuddly teddy-bear on the inside," she says, smiling at him.

Draco can't have Harriet undermining his worth as a Malfoy by saying such things. What would his allies and ministry acquaintances do if they ever heard such untrue things coming from his wife's mouth?

So he does what he always does to shut her up.

He kisses her.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 528

 **AN:**

Thanks RegdirbArze EzraBridger, ohkyungmi, slytherin-nette, Theodora Snowbird, Lord Admiral Ky, noneofmyshipssail, SilveryWind, LyraStarlight, Guest and Mua for reading and reviewing. :)

Guest: thanks for all the reviews. I'm glad to know that you loved the story and that candy-canes aren't ruined for you. ;) And I didn't know flour was used to make gravy, so thanks for that as well. :)

Mua: Draco and Harry have four children, and Scorpius is their oldest son. Thanks for reading and reviewing. :) Are you the same person who reviewed _Determinism, Destiny and Free-Will_? Because if yes, then thanks for that as well. It's actually a two-shot story, and I plan to write the story of James and Ursa as the second one. Thanks! :)


	19. December 19th, 2013

**Written for:** The Christmas Collection Competition on the  HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #30 (plot theme/action) Decorating the Christmas Tree

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 19th, 2013_

 _Thursday_

* * *

"Why does mum always get to place the star on the tree?" asks his eleven year old daughter, glaring at the glittering star that James and Albus are playing catch with.

Draco answers her after flicking his wand at the star, catching it with his right hand, as James and Albus groan in protest.

"There's quite a story behind that, Lils. Want to get some eggnog? I'll tell you all about it."

"I want pumpkin juice, daddy," she says, pouting.

"Sure, sweetheart," he replies, as he watches James and Albus now go on to decorate the lower branches of the tree that they can reach, eating some popcorn off the twine in the process . He still can't understand how he and Harry have managed to create such boisterous children.

Scorpius and Lily, on the other hand, are just like him and Harry. They're quiet and precocious, with the occasional bratty fit. And right now, his task is to stop Lily from throwing a complete tantrum over once again not getting to place the star.

Once he's settled on the sofa with his daughter, with Millie serving them their respective drinks, he starts speaking.

"Your mum had to grow up without her parents. She didn't have anyone to celebrate Yule with. Did you know that your mum had never received a present till she turned eleven?"

Lily shakes her head, her grey eyes wide.

"Your mother and I were in the same year at Hogwarts. And once upon a time, we both were enemies. We hated we each other, at least we thought we did. I was really nasty to her -"

"What! But why? She's mum! Why would you be horrible to her?"

"I guess it's because deep down, I liked her. Boys are always nasty to girls they fancy, Lils."

"Oh," she says, her brows furrowed. "Are you _sure_ boys are not nice to the girls they like?"

"Lils? Is there some guy you like?" he asks, trying not to smile when her face turns a fierce pink. She not only has her mother's hair and his eyes, but also has his skin and her mother's ability to blush easily.

"Wh-what... Of course not, daddy, I don't like boys. At all," she giggles nervously, before gulping down her pumpkin juice. Draco decides to mention it to Harry later.

"Of course you don't. Now, where was I? Yes, once while waiting to bother your Aunt Hermione, your Uncle Ron and your mother, I overheard Harry telling them that if she ever got a family of her own, she'd like to place the star on top.

"At that time, it didn't matter to me. But then I grew up. And then I fell in love with your mum. And somehow, she fell in love with me too. And when we decided to be a family, I remembered what I'd overheard in Second - or wait, was it Third? - Year.

"Anyways, because she never did get to be happy as a child, I promised to make all her dreams come true. Which is why she gets to place the star every year. I love your mum too much to give up on a childhood fantasy of hers."

"Look who's fine now!" comes the cheerful voice of his wife, and he turns around to see her bringing a pale faced Scorpius down the staircase.

As James and Albus rush to inspect the bandage that Harry's wrapped around Scorpius' head, Draco whispers into Lily's ear.

"You know you can just tell her you want to place the star on the tree, right?"

She looks up at him, her eyes full of sadness.

"I think mum should place the star. I'll just marry a boy who'll let me place the star on the tree," she says, smiling. When she smiles, it's so easy to see that she's Harry's daughter.

And Draco feels so proud of his daughter at the moment.

"You should do that. But remember, no marrying till your thirty."

"Yes, daddy," she says, kissing him on the cheek and grabbing the star from his lap, rushing to join her twin, who's showing off to his younger brothers about how exactly he crashed his broom into a tree.

"Merlin, those kids," says Harriet, dropping down onto the sofa next to him. His arm automatically encircles her waist, his fingers by default reaching for that bit of skin on her hip between her shirt and her jeans.

"Tell me about it. I think we shouldn't let James and Albus decorate the tree anymore."

She slants her face to kiss his neck.

"Please. They would retaliate by destroying the house. And we just got the interiors redone, so we can't let them burn the house down for at least the next ten years," she says, smiling.

They sit in silence, watching their kids rush around decorating the tree. Scorpius uses _Wingardium Leviosa_ to decorate the higher levels, which makes the younger two protest loudly.

Scorpius looks at his parents, waiting for them to tell him off for using magic at home, but both of them simply smile at him together. And that makes the boy smirk arrogantly.

"He looks like a mini-you, Dray," says Harry, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I think we've done good with all of them, hmm?" she says, snuggling against him.

Just as Draco's about to turn Harry's face and kiss her, Lily comes rushing to them, her face alight with joy.

"Mum, will you do the honours?" she asks, holding out the star.

"Of course, Lily-pad!" cries Harry, springing from the sofa to hug her daughter.

Over her mother's shoulder, Lily winks at Draco, pleased at the attention her mother's showering on her.

Draco smiles back at his daughter.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 955

 **AN:**

Is anyone else watching the French Open? Are you supporting Murray or Djokovic? The Djoker seems to be tiring easily, hmm?

Also, I'm not supposed to have logged on for the next couple of weeks, but I got restless. I haven't opened my PM inbox yet, and I promise that I'll read and reply once my semester exams get over. xD


	20. December 20th, 1996

**Written for:** The Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum

 **Prompt:** #58 (location) Christmas Party

 **Pairing:** fem!Harry/Draco

* * *

 _December 20th, 1996_

 _Friday_

* * *

Draco stands outside the room where Slughorn's Christmas party is going on, his conscience weighing him down. What if Slughorn has already opened the poisoned mead and served it to a student?

Somehow, the thought of Potter lying on the ground, her mouth spewing frothy blood as the poison corrodes her stomach and intestines, makes him feel sicker than ever.

Draco nearly jumps out of his skin when his godfather catches him by the scruff of his neck. What's more surprising is that Uncle Severus actually turns him in to Slughorn, not bothering to listen to Draco's weak protests.

Thankfully, luck is on his side, because the stupid Potions professor just grins and tells Draco to join the fun.

Draco tries not to smirk at Sev. It's so funny to see his usually put-together godfather scowl at Slughorn's retreating form.

The scowl suddenly turns into a malicious glare. Draco turns around to notice that it's Potter.

And then Severus is gone, his cloak billowing behind him.

But Draco doesn't care.

Because Harriet Potter is walking towards him, wearing a dress of deep red. It highlights the curve of her hips perfectly. And the neck is revealing, but not too much, showing just enough creamy skin to entice any straight male (and lesbian female) in the room.

Draco's mouth goes dry.

"Hey," she says, smiling when she's close enough. Her lips are painted red, blood red, and she's holding a glass of what looks like mead in her hand.

Draco can't breathe.

"Malfoy?" she asks, her eyebrows furrowing in concern.

Draco knows that he probably looks terrible. What if she's about to drink the poisoned mead? What if she dies, right here, a few inches from him? What then?

"What are you drinking?" he croaks out at last.

"A Butterbeer-honey mocktail with a touch of lemon and a sprig of mint. Why?" she asks, raising one eyebrow.

"N-No mead?" he stutters.

"'Course not, Sluggy is pretty lax about rules, but even he won't serve alcohol at a school party," she says, smiling a little, even though the confusion doesn't quite leave her face.

"Are you doing better?" she asks.

Draco tries to memorise how she green her eyes are, and how her eyelashes are naturally long.

He tries to memorise how she smells, like roses and Quidditch polish.

He tries to memorise how her hand feels on his arm, as she tries to comfort him, he supposes.

He can't do this.

There's no alcohol at this party, that's all he needs to know anyhow.

The _guilt_. The _hatred_. The _frustration_.

It's all killing him.

He turns around and strides out of the room, nearly knocking down his old house-elf in his hurry.

~o~

There's a tap leaking somewhere, disturbing the eerie quietness of the place.

Moaning Myrtle is nowhere to be seen. Draco guesses that she's probably at the prefect's bathroom, harassing some other poor sod instead.

He's sitting on the cold floor, his head in his arms, his knees to his chest, as he tries not to think of his mother being punished. The Dark Lord will torture and kill her first, in front of Draco, most likely, before killing him slowly and painfully, when he fails his task.

His mother doesn't deserve this.

Draco knows he's going to fail his task; he can't kill another person. He was set up for failure from the start.

The door opens, and Draco's hand is on his wand.

He yells out a _Stupefy_ before he can even realise who it is.

Potter looks at him levelly, having just dodged his curse, and drops her wand, letting it clatter loudly on the tiled floor.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Malfoy. I want to help," she says, walking slowly towards him, her arms raised halfway in a gesture of surrender.

Draco lowers his wand, though he doesn't let go of it.

 _Can she see that he's been crying?_

Moving slowly, as if he is an injured wild animal, she drops down to the floor a little away from him, before crawling gently to come to his side. He stretches out his legs, so that he looks bigger.

She never loses eye contact.

"What do you want?" he asks her. His voice sounds hollow to himself.

Slowly, oh-so-slowly, she raises a hand and grips his chin. Draco tries not to flinch.

"You look pale and tired. I don't think you've eaten anything in a while. When is the last time you even slept properly? I look like you've lost ten pounds just this last week. I'm worried."

"Why do you care?"

"I-I don't know," she falters, dropping her hand.

His chin feels cold without her nimble fingers holding it.

And then both her hands are on his cheeks, wiping away the tears that have remained, before she pulls him into a hug, moving to almost straddle him. She pushes his head onto her chest and rocks him, like he's a child.

"You'll get through this, I promise. You'll get through this," she repeats over and over again, as he tightens his grip on her.

Draco closes his eyes and lets the soothing movements and her voice calm him down, before he speaks, not moving away from her. He likes how warm she is.

"I'm going to die," he says despondently. She stops rocking him.

"You're not, I promise you," she says, drawing back to look him in the eyes.

"How do you know?" he asks, trying not to let his voice break.

He can't let her know that he's weak, right? But that _is_ the truth. He _is_ weak.

"You're going to have to trust me," she says, shifting her weight so that she's sitting on his thighs.

There's something about the sincerity in her voice and determination in her eyes that makes him hope for the first time in weeks, if not months.

And so, he takes a deep breath and puts his faith in the Chosen One.

* * *

 **Word Count** : 994

 **AN** :

If you like this story, please do give the one-shot I've written, _Inevitable_ , a read. It's a Draco/fem!Harry story, and it's a work that I'm very proud of. I hope you'll like it as much as I liked writing it.

As always, reviews are love, so please do review. :)


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